Delaney James was wearing Chanel the night her husband told her he didn't love her anymore.
In an instant, her picture-perfect Manhattan life-complete with a brownstone on the Upper East Side, a blossoming career as a fashion journalist, and a devas...
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I'm an absolute wreck.
"I thought this wasn't a date," Jo says. She promised she'd help me get ready, but instead, she's sprawled across my bed, lifting Hannah into air like she weighs nothing.
"It's not."
"Then why are you freaking out?"
"Yeah, Aunt Waney," Hannah chines, her bubbly laughter spilling through the room as Jo dips her again. "Why aw you fweakin' out?"
I press a sage-green, twist-front dress against my body, studying it for a second longer than necessary before tossing it into the growing pile at my feet. "I'm not.. freaking out."
Jo snorts. "Right."
"Not fweakin' out," Hannah echoes.
Jo glance at me like, this is on you, and I finally understand why she's been filtering the way she talks – not cursing, using code words, speaking like she's a cartoon character. Hannahrepeats everything she hears.
"Seriously, blondie," she says, shifting Hannah onto her stomach so she can bounce her gently on the bed. "What's up? It's Greyson."
"Exactly." I pull on a black floral wrap dress, smoothing it down over my hips, turning side to side in the mirror. It fits perfectly. I instantly hate it. "It's Greyson."
"Solid argument," she mutters, rolling her eyes.
I untie the dress and toss it in her direction before retreating into my closet, pushing hangers aside like the right answer might be buried somewhere between cotton and silk.
"I don't know if I like this," I admit. "Being alone with him."
Jo doesn't question me this time.
"We've been around each other more recently, sure, but not like this. Not where there's nothing else to focus on. Not this... intimate." I drag a pale-yellow lace dress over my head, glace at myself, then pull it right back off. "He's not just anyone. He's..." I trail off, reaching for something else, something that feels less like memory. "He's the one that got away."
It's the truth, and it lands heavier than I thought it would.
"If I hadn't left –" I shake my head before I can finish, already knowing where that thought goes. A marriage never proposed. A house that never happened. Kids that were never born. A life I can picture too clearly.
I change into a cream off-the-shoulder maxi dress, then a skirt and crop top, each one discarded for reasons I can't explain. Everything fits. Everything looks good. None of it feels like something I can stand in front of him wearing.
"I'm just... off," I finally say.
Jo lets a beat pass, then nudges Hannah toward the pillows and sits up, her tone gentler but no less direct. "Of course you are. You're about to sit across from the guy you thought you were going to marry. That's not something you casually do."
